Thistle
by Jonquille Theravada
Summary: Brainy has always loved Helga. Now that he's made a decision that will change everything, he must write to her and explain himself. Each chapter is a letter and reason for his love. Loosely based on the song "Milk Thistle" by Conor Oberst.
1. Chapter 1

1.

When we were sophomores, we had this bullshit class called seminar together. It counted for health and speech credits, and it was mandatory. I'm sure you remember, but the idea was a classroom full of students talking about their future careers, filling out job applications, sex ed, etc. Anyway, we had this PowerPoint project where we had to take a picture of ourselves from when we were kids and explain how we grew up and what decisions we've made and all that sort of stuff.

I've known you my whole life, and I knew you were faking it for a grade, but everyone who hadn't known you saw this picture of you taken when you were like nine or something and they all gasped. They had no idea how a girl with a unibrow and an overbite and childish pigtails could possibly grow into the beautiful creature standing in front of them. You were dignified, or indifferent, because I can't tell with you sometimes, and ignored the remarks and giggles they threw your way.

The thing is, though, you've never, ever been ugly. In fact, you have always been the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I really liked that no one else had noticed. It was like your beauty was a secret and only I knew. I felt the same way about your soul, too.

You're poetry. I don't mean that in a cheesy way. Actually, I'm crying, but only because I'm going to miss you so much. That's pathetic, though, because you never took any note of me whatsoever. I actually miss you punching me, but I'll write to you about that later.

I'm sort of rambling, but, anyway, this is the first reason why I love you. You're beautiful everywhere and always have been. I'm so, so, sorry that a certain boy didn't see that.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

We've got a lot in common. We've both loved someone else so bad it hurt. It's a pity the person you loved happened to not be me. Can you imagine, for a moment, if you loved me back the way you loved Arnold? Of course, that's a fantasy right up there with winning the lottery or achieving enlightenment, but still. Anyway, every single time I'd catch you talking to yourself, performing little soliloquies, everything you were saying was exactly how I felt. You just were intelligent and soulful enough to find words to express it.

It isn't just that painful, glorious, one-sided love we both share, either. We both love Quentin Tarantino movies, we both love pastrami on rye, and we can't stand Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. I hope you don't think it's too creepy that I know all three of those things (although I suppose sending you several love letters when you have barely said a word to me since 4th grade is, in itself, extraordinarily creepy anyway), but the fact is, I know those things because I know you. I know how when you're nervous, you pull at your hair. I know that when you're hurt, you hide it by acting overly aggressive. And you're hurt a lot. I'd give anything to heal that pain.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I understand you, Helga. I understand and I love you.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

You are absolutely the least-superficial person I have ever met. I really adore that about you in particular because, let's face it, I'm ugly. Not trying to rag on myself or anything, but let's be real here. Every year that you shed something unique about yourself in order to conform to be typically beautiful, I gained something unsightly.

Do you remember the summer you went from looking like a skinny girl to a curvy woman? You grew in all the correct places and I grew nearly _two feet_. You looked perfect and healthy and I looked like towering, clumsy, scrawny idiot.

There was another time when you, for whatever reason, got braces and wound up fixing that overbite I always thought looked cute on you. Within a week of you getting your braces off, you punched me in the face and ended up chipping one of my front teeth. I'm not mad about it or anything. Actually, whenever I look in the mirror, I'm reminded of you now.

I could go on, but the point here is that you don't care about all that stuff. When I wound up with a completely unfortunate haircut in the 8th grade, you were about the only person in our homeroom class that didn't come up to me to tell me how dumb I looked. You're the only person I've ever met that has been flawlessly beautiful and didn't give a damn about looks. Actually, you're the only flawlessly beautiful person I've ever met in general, but I'm sure you get what I mean, and I'm sure I'm starting to sound like a bad romance novel, so I'll stop.

As always, I love you.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's note**_**: I know there are a few unanswered questions in this, but I assure you that eventually it'll all be sorted out. I envisioned their age around the end of senior year, possibly beginning of summer. Since this is told from the perspective of Brainy writing letters, a few details you guys asked for have to be saved for an epilogue of sorts after Brainy is finished. I'll try to update more frequently and answer your questions better next time. **

4.

You're so strong. I used to walk by that little alley by your house and I'd hear you and your dad fighting sometimes. Some days, you'd come to school and have a split lip and a stoic expression. I'd worry about you, but you never divulged anything to anyone. Once, I overheard someone asking you where you'd gotten a bruise, and you said, "Just an accident." The person had pressed on, asking what kind of accident, and you gave a little laugh and said, "My kitchen counter being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Honestly, it infuriated me that anyone could do that to you. It was like setting fire to the Mona Lisa in my opinion. I get mad really easily, especially with things involving you, so what I'm about you tell you, you've got to understand from my perspective.

On one occasion junior year, you and your dad were having a particularly rough fight. I actually could hear yelling from across the street. I knew something really bad was going on, because you yelled, "STOP! STOP!" and you'd never done that before. You usually allowed whatever was going on to a certain extent, and it got me really fucking mad at your dad. I don't know what he was doing to you, or if I saved you, or what, but I picked up a sizable rock and hurled it through one of your front windows, channeling all my anger in that one throw.

The fighting and screaming stopped, and I booked it the hell out of there, smiling a little to myself. I'm sorry if you had to clean up that glass, and I'm sorry I couldn't have done more. I can't say I'll always be there for you, obviously, considering where I'm going pretty soon, but throughout my life I've always tried my best to protect you. There were even certain instances where I tried to set you up with Arnold, because your happiness is my happiness.

That's all. I love you.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

This is the story of the first time you spoke to me since high school began.

It's no secret that I've always been a little down on myself, but high school amplified everything. No longer was I invisible—no. I yearned for those days. If you thought kids in elementary school could be mean, you'd never heard of jocks. You see, each year I'd figure out your schedule—memorize it so I'd see you in the hallway during passing period, making your way to your calculus class or whatever. Other, more malicious people did the same to me. I was targeted relentlessly. I think, more than anything, they wanted a real reaction from me. Every insult they'd come up with, all I could say back was "I know."

"Brainy, you're worthless."

"I know."

"Toothpick, no one likes you."

"I know."

"You're stupid."

"I know."

"You're fucking ugly."

"I know."

I'm not much of a talker as it is, obviously, but I couldn't really disagree with the assholes. They were right.

Like I said before, I'm not writing to you in order to throw a little pity party for myself, and, anyway, words have never really hurt my feelings that much.

It was when things turned physically violent that I began to get a little scared. Well, I guess that's not the right term. Frankly, I could care one way or another if they jumped me, so long as I didn't have to explain bruises to my overly-concerned, squawking mother. It's more like I was tired. I didn't have the energy to get the shit beaten out of me daily, to pick gravel out of wounds made in dirty city alleyways. I was too exhausted for aching muscles and swollen lower lips and getting my fucking glasses fixed every three days because those idiots thought shattered bifocals were _absolutely _hilarious. So many people are too focused on the pain to realize how exerting it is to get beaten up.

So I had a choice to make: I could either graduate early and avoid a lot of unsavory people, or I could stay in school and see you every day. I chose to get out of there because, honestly, I had this stupid idea that maybe if I didn't see you every day, I would forget my hopeless feelings for you. It's a ridiculous notion because we all know how that went with you after Arnold moved away to live in San Lorenzo.

I got a few credits waved, took two classes online, and was out of that hellhole. Greatest time of my life, my ass.

What's weird is that those kids never went looking for me. I suppose the found a new piñata (poor bastard) to pound on.

It wasn't just the jocks who didn't seem to acknowledge I was gone. No one did. I hadn't told a soul I was leaving and _not a single person_ noticed. I had essentially vanished into thin air without as much as a glance from anyone. I'd stayed pretty much locked up in my house for three months until I was half-forced to go job hunting by my mother. It was appeasement, really. I had no intention of getting a job, only gathering applications so the woman would get off my back.

It was extremely bright that day as, after having spent so much time in the dark playing video games and wasting time, the sun was not too appealing to me.

I was walking through the park as a shortcut when I saw you. I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd told myself to run and hide, but that message got lost in the synapse, as my entire brain was too focused on taking in the sight of you. Please understand, I hadn't seen you in so long that the edges of your face had blurred and the vibrant, shocking blue of your eyes had faded in my memory.

Here you were, though, right in front of me, after so long, and somehow you'd managed to get even more perfect. You were approaching me and I was too big of an idiot to get out of your way. All I could do, like the socially inept, painfully awkward human being I am, was stand there gaping, clearly making eye contact.

"Uh…hi there, Brainy," you'd said pleasantly enough, with a definite tinge of confusion in your voice.

"Um," I said, wheezing a little before I could even think of what to say. "Hi." Hi? _Hi_? I was such a moron! There you were, actually talking to me, and all I could do was breathe like I'd got the wind knocked out of me by your presence.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages," you said, making your way around me, body language suggesting that you didn't plan on sticking around after I answered.

"Around," I said hoarsely.

You took off without replying and I had the astonishing revelation that at least someone had noticed I was gone.

You deserve these letters, this explanation for my actions, more than anyone, because you were the only person who'd realized that I'd disappeared. I love you for that. I love you so, so much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: This story has only two or three chapters left, but this isn't a letter from Brainy, this is Helga receiving them. The next chapter will be the 6****th**** letter. Reviews are much-appreciated. Thank you. **

_Meanwhile_

There'd been one on the driver's side of her car, sitting on the seat waiting to greet her good morning. It had troubled her, the message there, but she found herself smiling regardless. She took a deep breath and had folded it and put it in her glove compartment, making a vow to call the boy who'd written when she returned home from school that afternoon.

There'd been another in her locker, and she'd been a little perturbed. How did he know where her locker even was?

She'd read that one in her first period and tried really, really hard not to look too sad as the teacher lectured on.

Two periods later, she was called down to the office and handed an envelope. It was nearing lunch, and she read it as she made her way to her car. There was a lump in her throat and she had a horrible feeling about where this was going. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw another one folded neatly in her front seat, probably slid in through the cracked window. She looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of an absurdly tall, skinny boy anywhere, but was unsuccessful.

This one brought her to tears, and she knew she couldn't continue her classes that day. She drove back home and half-stumbled to check the mail. There was one there, too. She slumped on the stoop and read it, tears blurring the ink where he'd poured his entire soul just for her. She mustered up her energy and walked into her house, up the stairs, and to her bedroom. She had to find his number and call him.

There was one on her bed, the sixth letter. She'd almost been expecting it. She ran and read it, panicking and sobbing as she read it. This couldn't be right. She reread it, trying to find something else there. There was none. Shaking, she grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

She tried to answer the information as best she could, but she didn't know where he lived, she didn't know his last name. She didn't know.

And then she was running, running to find him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: One more chapter after this one. Don't hate me, guys. **

Dear Helga,

I feel like we've been on a journey these past few hours together. Of course, there are fascinating little mysteries about you that I will never discover and there are ugly little things about me that I will take to the grave. Honestly, I only wrote this letter to let you know it's not your fault. You've been perfect, and beautiful. You'll always be perfect, and I am so _happy _for you that you get to continue to live and find a man who is absolutely perfect, too. That man is not me. You're my soul mate, but I'm not yours. I know that.

I don't want to you feel guilty or mad. I'm just greeting the sunset a little sooner, and that's okay. It's my time.

Can you imagine if I didn't make this choice? I have no college plans, no friends, no job. I'd be so discontent ten years from now, still a virgin, working at a convenience store, thinking about you. Always fucking thinking of you. It'd always be a question of when, and I'm answering that question before it's ever posed by someone else.

I'm starting to get a little hazy, forgive me. I've taken a few pills every hour now. Did you know you throw them all up if you take them all at once? That's not important.

Look, Helga, I love you. God, do I love you. If guardian angels are real, believe me, I will be yours. I will always be there.

For eternity.

Brainy.


	8. Chapter 8

It was and light and happy and happy and happy and then a little scared. Fear of the unknown, he supposed. The fear was buried too far down, but it bothered him a little that it was there, but he couldn't reach it.

He opened his eyes to look at the clock. It'd been an hour since he began to really feel it. An hour! He laughed out loud. How absurd time seemed, considering the circumstances. The clock moved further away as he swam back into his subconscious.

And he was sure he was dead now, because there was an angel in front of him. There was something wrong, though. She looked familiar, and angry. His arms were still so heavy. His eyelids were so heavy. He felt himself falling backward, away from the angel, and into blackness. He saw pinpricks of light far away, and getting farther.

* * *

><p>Helga got there two minutes before the ambulance to find Brainy, breathing. His eyes fluttered, rolled back into his head, and she shook him.<p>

"Wake up you bastard!"

And his breath grew slower. Medics came into the room, pulling them apart, taking him away.

* * *

><p>But next he felt pain swirling around him, he saw red and white. Too much white. He heard muffled voices, before retreating back into darkness. In the darkness, Helga entered. Her eyes were averted as she placed thistles on his chest. Next was his mother, kids who hadn't made fun of him school, then the ones who did. The ones who did were crying the hardest. They all had candles; they all talked about him like he was an old friend. Helga wasn't there anymore. He looked for her face in a sea of people who'd spat on him and beat him up and called him names. She was gone. He called her name. He called it until his voice grew hoarse. She knew. She needed to stop these people.<p>

_Helga Helga Helga Helga Helga _"_Helga_!" he screamed.

"He's awake," someone said.

"Hush," came another voice. He turned to the sound, to the girl making it.

"Helga," he said again, his voice cracking. He felt tears streaming down his face and he wondered if he'd been crying before he woke up or if it had just started.

She hugged him tightly before nurses came in and shooed her away.

"I'm sorry," he called, desperate for her forgiveness.

"No, Brainy," she said, her tone sincere. "_I _am sorry. This should never have happened."


	9. Epilogue Part 1

**Epilogue Part 1 **

In the weeks that followed, Helga visited me at every opportunity; even on the day she graduated high school. And maybe I'm just being optimistic, but I got the impression that she really wanted to and didn't just simply feel obligated. We'd talk about everything. We laughed, sometimes we'd cry. Things were going really well, and she didn't treat me like some freak that she had to walk on eggshells around, and she didn't act like she was doing me some favor by visiting me so frequently. She didn't even acknowledge the fact that I loved her, something for which I was forever grateful. She treated me like I was a normal person, like we were equals.

On my last day in the hospital, she ran to embrace me. "This is your last day here. What're you going to do after?"

"I don't know. Get a job, learn a new skill," I said sarcastically, repeating verbatim what they told us to do in group therapy sessions here at the hospital.

She stared at me for a second and threw her head back to laugh. When she was done, she looked at me seriously. "You're my best friend, now, you know."

"You have always been mine," I answered. She looked sad then, and I regretted saying it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, I am. And hey," I said, trying to cheer her up, "we have the whole summer to hang out before you go to college."

She smiled. "We do."


	10. Epilogue Part 2

**Epilogue Part 2 **

_Two and a half months later_

I didn't expect Helga to show up at my door after midnight with a gust of wind and her hair blowing in her face. A storm was brewing.

"I trust you," she said, unbuttoning her dress.

Had I been a stronger man, I would have stopped her. This was not right. We weren't together. She didn't even love me in the same way I loved her.

I came alight that night, with claps of thunder outside my window and her on top of me.

And after, she buttoned her dress back up, combing her hair out with her fingers. She kissed me on the cheek and told me thank you. She told me she needed to get it out of the way before college, and she'd never met a man before that she felt safe with…except, you know. But he was gone.

And we sat together, fully clothed, for an hour, and I felt like crying. Because I could have stopped it, and somewhere in newness and the euphoria of it all, I felt used. So I told her so, because I couldn't lie to her anymore.

And, true to form, I ruined what could have been the start of something, and she got angry and told me she trusted me and she'd given me something no one else could have, or could ever have now, and she thought it meant something because we were best friends. I felt even more horrible than before. The tears I'd been fighting were now streaming from my eyes.

She didn't cry. She was so strong. She glared at me.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just love you," I said, my voice cracking. "I love you. You know that I love you. I love you like…" I stopped, choking a little. "…like you love _him_."

Her eyes softened a little, and she reached out and touched my face.

"Brainy," she said, sounding sympathetic. Her hand traveled down to my collar, gripping it, and she brought her other hand up to my face in a fist. She was glaring now. "Don't you ever fucking say something like that to me again."

I stood there for a second, staring at her. I started laughing. Once I'd caught my breath, I pulled her in for a hug.

"You're the same Helga I fell in love with."

"Don't get too excited," Helga muttered. Her voice had an edge of sadness in it, and I think I knew why. I think it was because she could never love me the same way I loved her. I don't know. But she was my best friend, and I was no longer a virgin, and I was okay with what had happened.

"Do you need me to walk you home?" I asked.

"No, I can manage. I'm good at taking care of myself," she said, sounding confident.

"I'd feel better if I walked with you," I said.

"For your peace of mind, Brainy," she said, rolling her eyes.

* * *

><p>And when I walked home that night, I smiled to myself. What happened was just sinking in, her smell still on me. And I loved her, and that was enough.<p> 


	11. Epilogue Part 3

**Epilogue Part 3 **

_5 years later_

Helga was getting her master's, on her way to becoming a professional psychiatrist. I had opened a comic book store in Seattle, and we shared an apartment together while I was getting my business going and she was getting her degree.

On some nights, we'd fall asleep on the couch together, with her head on my lap and me stroking her hair. Some nights, when one of us would have a bad dream about our past, we'd end up in the other's bed. Just to sleep, nothing more. The relationship we had together was completely platonic, on her side.

I liked it this way. I wasn't interested in girls that weren't her, and she never brought home any men. I knew there was only one person she'd ever bring home, and he was deep in South America.

Some nights she'd ask me why I'd never brought anyone home. It was long enough of a time, I'm sure she thought, that I no longer romantically loved her. But she didn't understand the depth of what I felt for her, no matter the fact that she loved _him _since she was three years old. After all, and she still held onto that.

In fact, at one point, we'd fought about him. I'd told her that he was long gone, and she'd looked at me angrily. She was quiet and dangerous when she finally spoke.

"Are you really angry about the fact that I'd only bring one man home? He's long gone. You told me so!" Here eyes were glistening at this point. "You, on the other hand—you could get any woman!"

"Yeah," I shouted back, "Well, you know I couldn't bring anyone home because I love you!" I took a second to pant. I inhaled deeply. "I love you, Helga. Always. I love you like you love _him_."

Her eyes didn't soften that time. It was five years since I'd brought him up. She'd mentioned him before in conversation, briefly, and always when she did she looked a little pained. I knew how much she loved him. I wished I'd been the one in preschool to tell her I liked her pants, or to share my cookies. I wish I'd been that activist in 4th grade to stand up for things.

But I wasn't. Ultimately, I guess, I was the one living with her, but I'd only touched her once the way I wanted to, and that was shortly after high school had ended. She was always unattainable, to everyone.

"I love you, too, Brainy!" Helga had shouted that night. "I love you, but it's different. I've only ever loved three people. You, and Phoebe, and….you know. But I just can't love you like I love him. I can't."

She almost started crying then. I grabbed her body and held her. "I love you. Always. It doesn't matter how you feel about it," I said, her chest against my neck. It was a sign of maturity, I think, that I wasn't turned on by her weight against me.

* * *

><p><em>A few years later<em>

We'd been living together for three years and Helga was working on her doctorate while my business was in full bloom and more profitable than I had ever imagined. To be honest, I had more than enough money to live alone. In fact, I could buy a house in the suburbs if I wanted to. But I didn't, and I never told Helga that I could. I couldn't risk it, I supposed. She always wanted the best for me, and I knew that if I told her, she'd have wanted me to live alone. Even buy a house in the suburbs, maybe.

Then, Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd began to host reunion parties. At first, Helga was reluctant, not interested in anyone from high school. As far as she was concerned, the only two people worth talking to were the only two people she kept in contact with. It took a little convincing, but eventually we went to those parties.

It wasn't too hard too make it over there, since Hilllwood was only a stone's throw away from Seattle, and when we'd attend them on occasion, always together.

When we were there, people would always ask us uncomfortable questions. Were we engaged? When did we ever plan on marrying? How long had we lived together?

We'd always answer politely, say we were just roommates, Best friends. I don't know. Had I been given the opportunity, I might have explained the extent and depth of our relationship.

The fifth reunion party that we attended, I was sitting with Helga at a table, drinking a beer. We were talking about something that seems of such little significance now. I don't even remember what it was.

Helga stopped mid-sentence and looked at me, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

My heart hurt then, because in that moment I gave her up. I gave her to that man who just strolled by at the party, not realizing the immense love emanating from the woman I'd spent the better part of ten years with.

It pained me to smile. "Go talk to him," I said.

"Should I?" Helga sounded scared, looked at me from underneath her lashes.

"Of course," I answered. "You're a beautiful, smart, caring woman. Who wouldn't want to talk to you?"

She squeezed my arm. "Okay," she said, breathing in slowly, "I'll go talk to him."

I watched as the love of my life strode up to the man she'd always loved, the man I'd thought was gone forever. I watched as they talked, as she threw her head back in laughter, as she leaned in to tell him something, I watched as he nodded, and they looked perfect together, even just then, meeting after all these years. And thusly I welcomed Arnold Shortman into my roommate, love, and best friend's life.


	12. The End

**Epilogue Part 4 **

_Some time later_

Helga hadn't talked to her father in over a decade. She'd never intended to again, for as long as she lived. Unsurprisingly, Arnold insisted upon sending him an invitation, which to his knowledge made it to Big Bob. I pulled that invitation out of my jacket pocket.

"I intercepted this for you," I said, grinning at the woman in white. "Oh! And one more thing." I went to grab a small, white box and handed it to her. Inside was a single thistle. I took it and put it in her hair. She understood the reference to our past immediately.

She looked up at me. "Oh, God, I promised myself I wouldn't cry until I was at the alter," she said, throwing her arms around me. "I wouldn't have anyone else walk me down the aisle, Brainy. Only you."

"Well, let's not keep the man waiting," I answered, offering my arm.

She took a deep breath. "I'm nervous."

"If you'd like, I could go tell him that you're moving to South America for twenty-odd years without a forwarding address" I joked.

She playfully punched my arm, laughing a little. "He profusely apologized for that. He mentioned being afraid that I'd send him razorblades."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Don't be nervous, Helga. You're perfect."

And it was true. She was perfect, walking beside me, glimmering and glowing white and new and in love. I felt no bitterness, no anger, not even sadness. I only felt joy, and that's when I realized how completely and flawlessly I did love her. Her happiness was the most important thing to me. She smiled at me, and I remembered her saving my life all those years ago. I never thought I'd get where I stood that day, in front of her, knowing her backwards and forwards and letting her exit the world we created together in order to build a family of her own.

"Okay, Brainy, I think I'm ready. I love you."

"God, now _I'm _going to cry."

The doors opened and ahead I saw Arnold's face light up with pride and love and joy. As we neared, I saw tears streaming down his face.

I decided then that someday I will look at someone that way, even though it won't be Helga. I've heard it said that people have multiple soul mates, and I hope that's true, because I'll find her.

And as a gave away Helga Pataki, lovely and rosy with bliss, I felt honored to have had her be the most important part of my life, and I of hers for a very long time.

Thistles grow wild within me. They used to prick at my insides with their thorns, but now they bloom. They bloom and she blooms and I watch them.


End file.
